Gumming Up the Works
by poohblaze
Summary: Claudia and her magic purse


Many, many thanks to Owlcroft and L.M. Lewis for fixing all the errors in this. I do have a grade school diploma somewhere...

I'm digging my way out from a landslide of work and it's a slow process. This is yet another short, blah-blah-blah story, just to keep my hand in.

Gumming Up the Works

Mark McCormick rolled out from under the car and squinted up at the figure looming over him.

"All done."

A dirty rag was dropped on to his chest and he picked it up to wipe his hands. He sat up slowly on the dolly, blinking at the sunlight coming through the garage door. Claudia Harper, in blue jeans and a faded green polo shirt, stood next to him and surveyed her Chevy.

"That's it? That's all you have to do for an oil change?"

"That's it." Mark grinned up at her. Claudia was short and square and one of the dark Italians. They'd met only the month before, but Mark had been instantly charmed. He finally figured out the appeal. Hardcastle had claimed that Mark only liked her so much because she was the only one around who had even more of an accent than he did. And that was kind of part of it. She stood out among all those smooth, toneless California voices. They'd met when he and the Judge had to deliver some files to Frank at his house. Claudia had answered the door.

"Come on in. Ya want some cawfee?"

Mark had done a double take. "Queens?"

Claudia had looked at him in surprise. "Yeah. You from New York?" New Yawk.

"Close," Mark had said and then started talking, letting her hear his own accent. She listened intently for a moment and then a knowing look came to her eye.

"Ha. What exit?"

Then they had adjourned to a couch and talked non-stop for the next forty minutes, cawfee going cold in their hands. They had each played up their accent, trying to outdo each other in harshness and impenetrability. By the time they had finished, both Frank and the Judge were wincing. Frank had seen him off at the door with the dry comment that he would never be allowed to speak to his wife again.

So Hardcastle thought it was the accent. Harshly squawking birds of a feather gathering together. But that wasn't really it. It was way weirder than that. Mark liked her because she reminded him of food. Really good food. Or rather, really bad food. Food that your mother wouldn't let you eat because you'd ruin your teeth. She had hair the color of a Hershey bar and eyes the exact color of caramel sauce. Just being around her made you want to turn out all the lights, find an old movie on TV and settle in with a blanket and a plate of brownies.

Mark had no idea whether Claudia was aware of her strange appeal, but her habits did nothing to destroy the perception. She always carried a slightly ragged denim handbag. Mark had quickly discovered that it was Mary Poppins' satchel as stocked by Willy Wonka. If you were in her company for more than five minutes she'd reach into that bag and start offering you Lifesavers or chewing gum. The longer you stayed around her the more elaborate the treats became: Hershey's Kisses, Gummy Bears, Twizzlers, Junior Mints.

Even now, as Mark got up from the dolly in the garage at Gulls Way, Claudia was reaching into her bag.

"Sour Patch Kids. You tried these?"

Mark reached out to take a yellow candy and tentatively popped in his mouth. He closed his eyes as the first wave of flavor hit him, wincing at its initial intensity.

"Claudia, I still don't understand why you don't weigh 300 pounds."

Claudia stuck her own candy in her mouth and returned the remainder to her bag. "I don't know. Metabolism, I guess." She patted her stomach. She was a solid woman. "Maybe I'm really supposed to weigh 98 pounds, but here I am at 140."

Mark put his hand over his heart and dramatically staggered backwards. "You're telling me how much you weigh? I thought the sisterhood had laws about spilling those kind of beans."

Claudia's caramel eyes twinkled up at him. "I weigh 140 on a good day. I'm 43 years old. There. Now you know the worst. You gonna dump me for a cheerleader?"

"Are you kidding? Who else is going to give me strange candy just for changing their oil. Oil which, by the way, should have been changed about 6,000 miles ago."

Claudia looked contritely at her old gray sedan. "Ouch. Sorry about that, Harrison."

"Harrison?"

"What, guys don't name their cars? I've seen your car, Mark. It has a name tag."

"Coyote," Mark said airily, "is like a specialty brand name. It's unique." He snorted and his voice returned to normal. "It's not like I call it Loni or Bo or something. That would just be weird."

Claudia reached out and patted the car. "Don't listen to him, Harrison. You and me all the way, baby."

Mark shook his head and started to roll the dolly away with his foot, an awkward skateboarding maneuver.

"Just make sure Harrison is back here in about three months. He's got a bit of a drinking problem."

"Slander," Claudia said. Then she looked at Mark more seriously. "Thanks for this. I'll find a garage I can take him to. It's just that," she shrugged helplessly, "I kind of got busy."

"Hey, this _is_ a garage if you hadn't noticed. Geez, Queens, it takes me ten minutes. It's no big deal."

"You sure you don't mind?"

"Nope. But I don't know about these sour things. If I'm going to be your mechanic here I think I'm going to demand Gummy Bears."

Claudia gave him a wide, conspiratorial smile and started rooting through her bag. She finally fished out an open package of Gummy Bears and tossed them to him. Mark took a small handful and held up a red one for examination. Claudia watched him.

"You know what trouble dolls are?" she suddenly asked.

Mark stuck the Gummy Bear in his mouth and shook his head. "No, Claudia, what are trouble dolls?" He said it as if setting her up for a punch line. Claudia took the bag back from him and pulled out an orange bear.

"I saw them at one of those earthy-crunchy stores at the mall. You know, the kind of place that sells all those beads and incense and stuff? They had these tiny little dolls. Trouble dolls. You're supposed to tell your troubles to the little doll and then the doll, I guess, takes on the trouble and it goes away."

Mark just nodded. The strangest stores kept popping up. He knew a few incense and macrame girls who seemed to flock to stores like that. Trouble dolls, what next?

Claudia bit deliberately into her bear and chewed for a moment.

"Anyway," she said, "that's why I always have Gummy Bears."

Mark stared blankly at her, waiting for more, but Claudia just continued to chew.

"You lost me, Queens."

"Oh, you know. They're like therapy. Someone ticks me off I name a Gummy Bear after them and bite its little head off. Sort of a trouble doll. Only with the added bonus of cavities."

Mark choked back a laugh at the thought of this little cupcake of a woman chomping down on her enemies.

"Wow. I'd heard about Italians. Thought that was like a stereotype."

"Believe it, paisano." Claudia giggled like twelve-year-old at a slumber party.

This time Mark couldn't hold back his laugh. He picked out a Gummy Bear and held it up. "This one is Lester Carmichael, insurance agent and utterer of those famous words, 'your premium is going up.'" He stuck the candy in his mouth and chewed enthusiastically.

Claudia stifled her giggles and entered into the game.

"This is the guy in line ahead of me at the bank yesterday who had to count out three dollars worth of pennies. Ahead of me. In line." She tossed the bear into her mouth.

Mark's turn. "Joey Abernathy. Fourth grade. Said I had cooties."

"My brother, also Joey, who said I was a complete screw-up. Partly because I had cooties."

Mark grinned and leaned back against the car. "Did you really have cooties?"

Claudia smiled up at him, that mysterious I-know-something-you-don't-know smile that mothers probably teach their daughters. She walked towards the car and ran a hand along the hood. "Questioning my hygiene?"

"Please. You put stuff in my greasy hand and I toss it in my mouth. Like I worry about hygiene."

"Glad to hear it. Because I didn't. I was a screw-up independent of any cooties."

Mark looked at her. She didn't sound like she was kidding. "Your brother really said that?" Claudia continued running her hand along the hood. "Man, what a maroon."

Claudia rolled her eyes at Mark's failed Daffy Duck impression. She moved near him and hoisted herself up to sit on the hood, directly over the right front tire. Her feet swung gently back and forth and Mark winced at the scuff marks she was putting on the tire bay. "Joey is a certified public accountant, I'll have you know."

"Certified moron."

Claudia laughed but it wasn't the carefree giggle of before. "No, actually, he was right. I blame society." She popped another Gummy Bear in her mouth but didn't bother to name it "Society."

Mark stared at her. He finally shook his head. "I can't see it. I mean, you bake."

The giggle returned. "You're doing wonders for my ego here. Next time I'll bring you pie." She patted her purse. "If it'll fit in here with my wallet and the lipsticks." She shook her head and returned to the conversation. "Nah, I was kind of a mess when I was younger. Kind of wild."

Mark gaped at her. "And you wound up marrying a cop?"

Claudia leaned towards him. "Ironic, huh?" She pulled back and again kicked gently at the car. "I wasn't knocking over liquor stores or anything, it was just dumb teenage stuff. You know, booze and cars."

Mark nodded. That sounded familiar. Booze and cars. He didn't reply. The silence settled and he was surprised when Claudia broke it. She sounded both reflective and amused. "I really was a little screw-up."

Mark looked away. His fingers tapped silently against the car. He liked Claudia's car, just a nice solid sedan. The kind of car you saw everywhere. The kind he could break into in about fifteen seconds."You're not now," he said finally. "A screw-up I mean."

"Tell that to Frank when I leave the garage door open." When Mark didn't laugh she shrugged. "Yeah, I know. And thanks."

Mark's fingers continued their tapping. He realized he was tapping out an old song, "Because of You." Huh. One of his father's songs. He didn't even like it. He made his fingers stop their tapping. They rested idly against the front door of the car. The finish was gritty under his fingers. He doubted it had ever been waxed. The door handle was near his left hand. A standard handle. And easy lock to pop. He ran his hand along the handle. Then he stopped. He clenched his hands into fists for a moment. Then he shoved them in his back pockets. If Claudia noticed, she said nothing.

"How did you stop?" He asked abruptly. "Being a little screw-up?"

Claudia looked at him for a moment and then leaned back on her hands. Her left leg was still but the right kept on swinging, kicking lightly at the car. "I don't know. I'm not Norman Vincent Peale or anything. My situation might be different from, um, other people's." She sighed and looked around the garage. "I just got tired, you know? Tired of being such a nothing. Tired of thinking up excuses." She said nothing for a moment. Mark could hear the quiet scuffling of her foot as it kicked the car. Then Claudia straightened up and fished in her purse. The bag of Gummy Bears reappeared and she dangled it from her fingers. "They didn't have these when I was growing up." She looked at the bag dubiously. "Probably a good thing. 'Cause what I would have done back then would be to name every single Gummy Bear in like a warehouse full of Gummy Bears." She looked from the bag to Mark. "See, everyone was to blame. There wouldn't have been enough Gummy Bears in the world."

Mark stared at the bag, swaying gently from her fingers. Claudia looked back at it as well. She shrugged. "I guess I just finally realized that the real problem was that there was a great, big, enormous Gummy Bear named Claudia out there and I better just eat that one first."

Mark continued staring at the bag of candy. It was swaying gently like a hypnotist's medallion. He finally became aware that Claudia was watching him. He cleared his throat and canted a smile at her. "A giant Gummy Bear named Claudia?"

"Hey, as food metaphors go, I thought it was pretty good. Here." She tossed him the bag.

Mark caught it with one hand. "Thanks, Mean Joe." He tossed the bag gently up and down in his hand. It was more than half gone. He couldn't remember how many he had eaten. Just a few. He hadn't even dented his list. He tossed it back to Claudia. "I think I'm off Gummy Bears for awhile."

Claudia looked at him for a moment and then put the bag back in her purse. "Yeah, I think you're right." She looked up and caught his eye. "I'm glad."

"Yeah?" Mark said hesitantly, dreading some big soul-searching conversation.

Claudia nodded and leaned forward. "Yeah, I'll tell you why."

"Why?" Mark said warily.

"Remember when I said I weighed 140?" Claudia patted her stomach. "I lied."

END


End file.
